Friday, 19 October 2007

The Polish Hotel California

This poem comes from a true story--
My experience with Hans and Carol Kalliwoda of
Europartrain--Amsterdam to Krakow 2000.
To learn more about the Europartrain,
click on the title link above.

The Armoured King Recycling
Own castle in Gdansk.
Converted scraps the masses leave
Prop pleasures for his dance.

This dance involves some stage fright--
The audience--not him.
Pierced---not his ear
Hung from meat hook chandeliers

Breast and nipple--- rips so slim
While trumpeting. It's grim.
He showed us a video on this.
Free ticket--would you go? Might have to miss.

His castle many--roomed
The stairways lead to air.
He found abandoned--left alone.
Only he did care.

He troubled with a candle
Our steps on hollow stone
To light our tresspass through his home
The courtyard overgrown.

One room he has for bottles
One room for bits of tin
One room he has for plastics
Recovered from the bin.

The foundry with its armour...
His costumes for the stage.
It's there he plays his trumpets
His passions on a rage.

So Hans--where did you find him?
Not "find"--no--I was told.
To seek the lonely trumpeter
In the castle old.

A motorcycle bar with men
"His ways are strange some say
But he drinks vodka just like us."

Later-- engine tarries at the gate.
Hans pulls---two hands--to open--not his fate.
Then he comes one-handed....Rogolus--he prys with ease
The iron gate ajar and sweeps us in, "But Please..."

A quiet midnight tour with lighted candle.
A broken tiled floor---a door---no handle.
A light bulb for his guests--a cup of tea
Floats above his bed brought from the sea.

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